


can't go down if you talk a lot

by likecharity



Category: British Comedy RPF, The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Denial, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Regret, Self-Esteem Issues, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: "What more do we have to do, Noel?" Russell sighs. "Can't seem to get the message across. I've never had this much trouble before, have you? Normally you invite someone back to your house at this time of night and the implication's pretty clear.Andwe've been dropping hints all night like breadcrumbs in a forest.""I know. It's been a minefield of innuendo.""A minefield! And somehow he's navigating it without treading on a single innuendo-mine. Not a single one.""Shall I put it in layman's terms?" Noel asks, shifting apart from Russell a little. He looks at Simon with a slightly softer expression and pats the very small space on the sofa between him and Russell. "Just c'mere and let us kiss you, alright?"





	can't go down if you talk a lot

**Author's Note:**

> Set in July 2008, after the Focus 12 gig they all did together. That's NINE YEARS AGO what the fuck. Let's just pretend I managed to write this at a more relevant time. Better late than never?? Fingers crossed somebody is still interested in reading about these people! 
> 
> This could've been more fun but Simon is too miserable and wouldn't fucking relax. The ending is a little depressing, just a head's up. I'm pretty sure I always write threesomes with sappy endings but Simon literally would not let me do it. ALSO I feel I should acknowledge that this has more focus on Simon/Russell than anything else, with Noel as a sort of easygoing slutty conduit? And, like everything I write, it is absurdly long.
> 
> Title from 'Backseat' by Staygold.

"I don't want you getting the wrong impression, here. None of this means that I'm in any way attracted to either of you. The only impression you should be getting is that this is just how desperate for human interaction I've become."

"He's a strange one, inne?" Russell comments, looking sidelong at Noel. "Desperation's not something you normally wanna broadcast to a potential sexual partner."

Simon scoffs loudly at 'potential sexual partner' but before he can disillusion Russell of such an idea, Noel is adding, "Bit rude," and shaking his head. "Bit ungrateful."

"Proper ungrateful!" Russell agrees, looking Simon in the eyes now. Simon wants to look away, but forces himself to meet Russell's gaze head-on. "Here we are taking pity on your poor lonely sex-deprived soul," Russell continues, "and all you can say is how hideous you find us."

"Well, not hideous," Simon protests, against his better judgement, because really he can't deny that maybe there's _something_ , some reason he's agreed to come back to Russell's instead of just going home, something beyond all the loneliness. Of course, all that's going to happen tonight is that maybe they'll order in some food and have a bit of a chat about how the gig went, but even that's not something he'd do with just anybody. Russell and Noel are good company, at least.

Personality-wise, neither of them are anywhere even close to his type—too loud, too cocky, far too self-assured. Russell, at least, is somewhat damaged, but the way he's dealt with it is somehow unattractive to Simon, as reprehensible as that might sound. He's confronted his demons, embraced them, let them make him who he is. There's never any sign of a struggle, of a deep emotional turmoil, which is usually the sort of thing that draws Simon to somebody. Russell's almost proud of his issues, which is, for some deep-seated psychological reason or other, a turn-off.

It's difficult even to separate their personalities from their looks, as everything about them seems to scream _look at me!_ and that's usually exactly the sort of thing that makes Simon do the opposite. He's more interested in seeking out the people who _don't_ want to be looked at. Not the guys with their shirts unbuttoned practically to their navels, the guys wearing bright red boots and capes. Still, if he squints—which he does, now—and tries to ignore these outward displays of confidence and vanity, if he looks past the jewellery and the make-up and the obsessively coiffed hair, they're...well. Not hideous.

They also look like they're waiting for him to say something more.

"That's it?" Noel laughs, unimpressed. "'Not hideous'. That's the best you can come up with."

Simon shrugs. "I really don't think your egos are in need of any more stroking," he says dismissively, and immediately regrets the word choice.

"Egos, perhaps not," Russell jumps in immediately, exactly as Simon knew he would. "Our _cocks_ , on the other hand—"

"Perhaps not, also," Simon interrupts, because really, they know as well as he does that those aren't in need of any more stroking either. _His_ , however... 

He shifts irritably in his seat, cutting off that train of thought abruptly. What's he even doing? This is ridiculous. They're toying with him, and it's cruel, because they know exactly how lonely he is and how much he'd love to be getting this sort of attention from somebody who means it. Not from two flamboyant heterosexual idiots who could've probably, with zero effort, picked any woman out of the audience to bring home tonight in Simon's place. Simon wishes it could be that easy for him.

He'd just been pleased to have the chance to actually be sociable tonight instead of staying in with his cat, but he's quickly realising that he's made a terrible mistake. He'd rather be alone than spend the night being teased like this. This is clearly all some sort of game to them, though he's not sure why exactly. Maybe for the same reason Russell apparently found it hilarious to joke onstage tonight about Simon wanting to fist Noel, and to make weird references to Simon's 'gay bottom'. Just cheap, vaguely homophobic laughs, really. Most of the time it's just tiring putting up with that sort of thing from Russell, but tonight he's actually annoyed, feeling attacked somehow, or like he's been lead into a trap.

"Listen," he says, going for 'assertive' and ending up with 'feeble', "I just remembered I've got a thing in the morning, so actually, I should probably get going."

"Oh, no you don't," Russell snaps. He plonks himself down on the sofa right beside Simon and puts his hand on his thigh for good measure. It's rather a firm grip. Simon looks down. It's rather a large hand, too, actually, or else it just looks like it on Simon's skinny thigh. Simon forces back a stupid flush of arousal. How horribly desperate has he become that Russell Brand's hand on his thigh is even remotely arousing?

"Oh no I don't?" is all he can manage in return.

"Don't think I don't know your schedule, darling," Russell tuts. "Empty as a vast desert wasteland, innit? Hence all the aforementioned loneliness and desperation. I didn't even have to properly book you to do tonight's gig, did I? Just figured you'd be free and ta-da, you were. Only thing you could possibly have planned for tomorrow morning is a visit with your mother."

Simon says nothing for a moment, attempting to come up with some sort of denial, but he can't be bothered having to think up a lie and make it sound convincing when there's really no point. "Not even that," he admits eventually, giving a little pathetic hoot of a laugh. "That's how dire things are." 

He slumps a little against the back of the sofa, giving up on all pretence of leaving. At least for the moment, anyway. He's aware that he's not relaxing entirely, but he does let out just a tiny bit of the tension from his muscles. 

Russell notices this, and takes the chance to tighten his grip just a tiny bit more on Simon's thigh, gives it a little bit of a rub, aiming for the right combination of comforting and lascivious. Simon gives him an exasperated look, but says nothing, so Russell counts it as a success.

"So why all the hurry to rush off?" he asks. "We've already established that you don't find us hideous."

"And also that you're gagging for it," Noel chips in helpfully. 

Good thing Noel's here, Russell thinks appreciatively. Insofar as he can really process what's happening here at all, he recognises that there'd be zero chance of it happening without Noel present. He's not sure of the exact reasons—it could be as simple as Simon finding Noel just that little bit less hideous than Russell, which, though a hurtful concept, is one Russell can understand, because Noel is _pretty_ in that way Simon goes for—quite young-looking though he's older than the both of them, and a little bit girlish and wide-eyed. Or perhaps it's more complex than that; perhaps Noel is necessary because he's a buffer, someone to distract Simon from all the potential messiness of sleeping with a good friend, someone to make it seem less risky, more light-hearted. 

Simon narrows his eyes at Noel and says nothing, which Russell counts as another victory. It takes a lot to reduce Simon to nothing but exasperated looks and narrowed eyes. Russell can tell this isn't genuine speechlessness, however, can tell that Simon probably _could_ spout off a good comeback if he tried, with his quick wit and sharp tongue and all that. The thing that's happening now is that Simon's just choosing not to bother, which is interesting.

"So what is it then? Go on." Russell leans in close—a little too close, perhaps, but so what—waiting impatiently for Simon's answer. All he really wants to do is just kiss him on his stupid little mouth, if he's honest, and maybe he ought, but he feels like he needs something more from Simon first, some indication that he is genuinely up for it. Because as much as Russell wants to believe it, and tells himself so all the time, Simon can be terribly convincing when disabusing him of the notion and it makes annoying little alarm bells of doubt sound in the back of Russell's mind.

"All right, enough, get your dirty paws off me," Simon snaps suddenly, voice raised as he slaps at Russell's hand. Russell removes it reluctantly, and Simon gets to his feet, putting some distance between himself and the couch and brushing off his jeans in a way that Russell thinks is wholly unnecessary. "Can we just have a normal gathering between normal friends, now, please, without the weird sexual mind games? I know you two like your little rounds of gay chicken but I seem to have unwillingly ended up in the middle of one, here, and I—"

"Unwillingly," Noel scoffs quietly, but Russell is fixating on a different part of Simon's outburst.

"Gay chicken?" he echoes. " _Gay chicken?_ Is this to say you still don't believe Noel and I have sealed the deal?" He sighs heavily. "I've _told_ you, Si, many a time—"

Simon rolls his eyes. "Yeah yeah," he says, though it's harder to brush this off than usual now that Noel's actually here, grinning impishly instead of, well, denying it. In fact, the lack of denial is a little alarming, because Simon really _did_ wholeheartedly believe, up until now, that Russell was full of shit every time he mentioned having got off with Noel. It'd happened a few times, according to what Russell's said, though Simon was honestly barely paying attention because of how little he believed any of it, utterly convinced Russell was just winding him up. So many of his conversations with Russell revolve around homosexual behaviour in one way or another, that he assumed Russell was just being his usual self and saying outlandish things for a reaction. Maybe even trying to see if Simon would exhibit any signs of jealousy, one way or another.

"No, we did, though," Noel says, with a vague sort of urgency in his tone, as if this is all very fun and everything but it's important Simon has the facts. "Five times, actually, I think. First time might not count I suppose, mostly heavy petting it was, wasn't it?"

"'Frottage' I believe is the technical term, Noel," Russell says, nodding seriously, and Noel laughs. "Good time, that was, backstage after that quiz a couple years back, celebrating our victory. Coming in first place and then in our trousers and all that. Fond memories."

"Yeah," Noel stifles his laughter into a sort of coquettish grin, and Simon can't help still feeling suspicious.

"Anyway..." he says, trying to act like he doesn't care, though the images they've put in his head are majorly distracting in a way they weren't before, back when he was a hundred percent sure they were a lie. "Can we just—are we going to order some food or, or what? I—"

"Food?!" Russell sounds affronted. " _Food_. Honestly. We're sat here reminiscing about that time we orgasmed all over each other, Noel, and he's talking about _food._ "

"I know, all it's doing is making him want a takeaway. Disrespectful."

"Disrespectful! That's what it is. Not giving us the aroused reaction we deserve, Noel. How dare he?"

Noel eyes Simon curiously. "I think he still doesn't believe it," he says, and it comes out sounding like a dare.

"Doesn't believe it! Told him _countless_ times, I have, Noel—sorry about that, only good things to say though, trust me, five star review it was—"

Russell keeps babbling a little bit but Noel tunes him out for a second, watching Simon, trying to figure out what he's thinking. It's pretty hard to tell.

"Don't know why he wouldn't believe it," Russell goes on, "look at us, two attractive young men with healthy libidos, why wouldn't we 'ave a go?"

"Must be all those powerful vibes of heterosexuality we give off," Noel laments, grinning, and Simon does laugh at this, as Noel suspected he would.

"Damn those powerful vibes of heterosexuality!" exclaims Russell. "Bane of my existence. Can't get rid of 'em, no matter what I do! You think getting off with Noel Fielding'll do away with 'em once and for all but there they always are, lingering."

"P'rhaps if you stopped sleeping with all those ladies," Noel suggests, teasingly.

"Awh, can't do that, can I, though, Noel? Hurt their feelings, that would. No, nothing to be done." 

Russell lets out a theatrical sigh, leaning back against the sofa, stretching his arms out so that one hand reaches across to brush Noel's shoulder. Noel feels a tiny frisson of something, like he often does when Russell touches him, a little spark of expectation, of promise. He never knows quite how things are going to go, when he meets up with Russell. The vast majority of the time it's nothing but flirting, intense but ultimately fruitless, Russell just feeling playful and Noel not wanting to push his luck. The circumstances have to be just right for anything to happen. They've both got to be buzzing a little from something or other, Russell usually from the excitement of a successful gig or the high of some great new idea, Noel usually from some sort of intoxicating substance.

He wishes he had some sort of intoxicating substance now, to be honest, not because he needs it in order to go through with this (whatever this is) but just because it feels like something that ought to be present. It's always a little weird hanging out with Russell or Simon, with their sobriety and all, and it's even weirder when it's the two of them together. His nerves jangle. He realises he's tapping his foot obnoxiously. Maybe he does need something. Maybe he just needs more than Russell's fingertips brushing his shoulder.

 _Guess we'll have to prove it,_ he keeps thinking, but he doesn't say it, because it's cliché and predictable. _Guess we'll have to prove it._ He can just imagine the eyeroll he'd get from Simon for that. He tries to think of a better way of phrasing it, something clever but still cheeky. Getting off with comedians is always a bit tricky because of the pressure to still be entertaining during. He wonders if maybe the best way to get his point across would just be to grab Russell and start making out with him.

"Guess we'll just have to prove it, eh, Noel?" Russell says suddenly. 

Simon rolls his eyes. 

Noel cackles a little, and then can't anymore because Russell's mouth is on his. He feels himself melt into the kiss immediately, like he's been waiting for it all night—some part of him probably has, he realises. Russell is making it sloppy, exaggerated for Simon's benefit or perhaps still trying to give the whole thing a comedic undertone to save face. Noel doesn't know and doesn't particularly care when Russell's tongue is in his mouth.

"Oh, god," says Simon, but very flatly, not at all in the way they were hoping for. He sounds less surprised or awed and more just exasperated and uncomfortable. Noel opens one eye while still kissing Russell to see that Simon is standing there with his head turned away and his eyes tightly squeezed shut.

Well, that won't do.

For a moment Noel's not sure what he should do next, what would really make Simon take notice, but then he realises the most effective course of action is just to keep doing what he's doing. The 'looking away in faux-disgust' thing will only hold up for so long, and then Simon will have to do something else.

So, he wraps his arms around Russell and tries to pretend Simon isn't even there, just relaxes and enjoys it, the messy way Russell's kissing him—he pretends it's just because it's been a while and Russell's missed it, missed him, wants him so badly. Maybe it's embarrassing, but Noel always feels a bit special when he's with Russell, because he knows Russell can count on one hand the number of men he'd make exceptions for. And Noel's no prude, he gets around a lot, especially lately, but when it's someone important, someone he's been doing it with for a long time, it can sometimes feel a bit _too_ familiar, almost boring. Alternatively, when it's a stranger there's nothing _special_ about it. Russell's still exciting—they aren't anywhere near the point where Noel starts to get bored, starts to feel like they're running out of ideas to make things interesting. And yet he's enough of a friend for it to feel significant. 

Also, he's a very good kisser (doubtless due to all the practice he's had) and it's nice to just relax and let him take the lead, see where this will take them. He nips Noel's bottom lip gently with his teeth and Noel's nerves fizz. He makes a small sound against Russell's mouth, digging his fingernails into his shoulder, and forgets for a split-second that Simon is there.

"Okay," says Simon mildly, "are you—are you quite finished? Point made."

Simon's not totally sure what the point was supposed to _be_ , anymore. Maybe just that, whether or not they've done this before—and he has to admit that it certainly looks like they have—they're clearly comfortable sucking each other's faces. That's great. He's _really_ not sure what he's supposed to do with this information. Well, he has one idea, but it—it's still not—

"Simon, for the love of god," says Russell, and his lips are shiny, and it's distracting. "Sit down, at least."

"And what, enjoy the show?" Simon says crossly, folding his arms. "I can watch porn in the comfort of my own home, thanks, I don't need to see you two going at it right in front of me."

"Are you really that dense?" Noel enquires, a little harshly in Simon's opinion. 

"What more do we have to do, Noel?" Russell sighs. "Can't seem to get the message across. I've never had this much trouble before, have you? Normally you invite someone back to your house at this time of night and the implication's pretty clear. _And_ we've been dropping hints all night like breadcrumbs in a forest."

"I know. It's been a minefield of innuendo."

"A minefield! And somehow he's navigating it without treading on a single innuendo-mine. Not a single one."

"Shall I put it in layman's terms?" Noel asks, shifting apart from Russell a little. He looks at Simon with a slightly softer expression and pats the very small space on the sofa between him and Russell. "Just c'mere and let us kiss you, alright?"

Simon makes a sort of squawking sound, because Noel sounds like he is being entirely genuine and that's not something Simon hears very often _anyway_ , let alone in this sort of context. Part of him wants to clamber over the coffee table and join them immediately, but most of him is still caught up trying to pretend like he doesn't want this. He doesn't know who he's trying to fool. If he really didn't want this he would've gone home already, they all know that, and it's not like there's any shame in it, particularly. There shouldn't be, at least—Noel's just admitted with total ease that he wants to kiss him, so why does Simon instinctively want to scoff at the whole idea?

What good would that do, anyway? It might do a little for his own ego but right now his ego is seeming like less of a big deal, and something that's gaining importance by the second is the fact that it's been a really, really long time since he got kissed. Since he got—anything, but he's not going to let himself think past kissing at the moment. Kissing is fine. Kissing happens between friends sometimes, even. He still can't shake the thought that they're taking pity on him but, well, maybe it's well-deserved and he should just shut up and take it.

Noel is looking expectant, and, wondrously, Russell has kept his mouth shut throughout Simon's entire internal monologue so far. What must _that_ mean, Simon worries a little frantically. That he actually wants to kiss him? The idea is alarming. Though it's hardly the first time it's been brought up—whenever Simon is complaining about the state of his love life Russell can't seem to help making lewd comments about the ways in which he'd help him out if only, oh, if only he weren't so heterosexual. And Simon has always groaned, and laughed uncomfortably, and said things like "Oh, yes, Russell, and if only I weren't so _picky_." But it's always been very clear to Simon that it was a _joke_. Russell's so fixated on Simon's sexuality that he's constantly walking a fine line between mild homophobia and actual bicuriosity, managing most of the time to balance in a place somewhere in the middle that leaves Simon able to deal with his friendship without things getting too complicated. 

But this—this could be complicated.

Noel tilts his head back, and pats the sofa cushion again.

Noel's not complicated, Simon supposes. He could kiss Noel. That'd be all right. They're not so close that there's a risk of it ruining their friendship, and Noel's sexuality has always been enough of a question mark for it not to feel _too_ weird. And he's always sort of wanted to, anyway, if he's being honest with himself. He refuses to think about the whole thing any further, heaves an exaggerated sigh, and steps around the coffee table to squeeze himself onto the sofa between them, awkwardly, trying not to look at either of them as he does it. 

"Again I feel I should mention the loneliness and the desperation," he blurts before he can stop himself.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Amstell," Noel says, grinning wickedly and then tilting Simon's chin up with one long finger and pressing their lips together. 

Simon feels a tiny jolt of panic at the fact that this is actually happening, but then it's hard to concentrate on worrying because Noel's lips are really soft and he's parting them gently for Simon's tongue and oh, it's really been too long since Simon's done this, and it's all coming back to him in a rush of muscle memory, his body responding instinctively to the warmth of Noel's mouth and the touch of his tongue against his own. He might, maybe, let out a tiny sigh, but he's going to pretend otherwise.

He can't exactly say he's forgotten about Russell's presence, because their thighs and hips are pressed right up beside each other on the sofa and he can feel the heat of Russell's skin through his jeans and smell his familiar cologne mingled with his sweat and he can't really ignore any of that. But the focus is very much on Noel's mouth at the moment, which is why he flinches slightly when he feels Russell's hand on his thigh again, strong and steady, and then—more distressingly—Russell's lips brushing against his shoulder. He's just about to protest, because _really_ , but is dismayed to realise that it feels good. Really good. Russell begins kissing his neck gently, just where the neckline of his t-shirt meets his skin. Oh, no.

Russell hears himself murmuring something but he's pretty sure it's nonsense, mostly shushing noises, pre-emptively trying to shut Simon up. He kisses Simon's neck more insistently, gives his skinny little thigh a squeeze for good measure, and smiles against the warm, pale skin of his quivering throat when he feels him relax just a touch, hears him make a tiny happy sound that is mostly swallowed by Noel's mouth. He's torn between watching and participating, because the sight of the two of them kissing is quite something, better than he imagined even, maybe—there's something about the way Simon's just giving into it that's making Russell's heart rate speed up, something about the way he kisses like he just realised that yes, actually, he's wanted this all along, rather badly. Russell wants his turn. He wants that same reaction.

He works his way slowly up Simon's neck, to his jaw, 'til his view of the kissing is so close-up his eyes can't even focus properly and he can feel Noel's breath. He sucks ever-so-gently on the knife edge of Simon's jaw line, because he can't help himself, and is faintly surprised when Simon doesn't immediately elbow him away. He edges closer to Simon's lips, and becomes aware that Simon is very gradually turning his head, away from Noel and towards Russell, as if by chance, as if he's not even meaning to. Noel draws back a little and gives Russell an extremely cheeky smile that seems to say "go on" (like Russell needs any encouragement) and before Simon has time to open his eyes Russell dives in, stroking a hand up into his hair and tangling in the curls at the top of his head as if to hold him still. He's pleasantly surprised to find no resistance after all—Simon just starts kissing him back, right away. He makes another sort of sighing sound when their lips part for a second, and this time it's less of a sexy noise and more of an "oh all right then, _fine_ " but at this point Russell doesn't really mind.

He's actually a little surprised at how much he's enjoying the kiss himself, despite having known for a while how much he's wanted to do this. It was always a sort of abstract desire, not the same as wanting to get a fit bird into bed, not _that_ sort of want, but just wanting to know what it would be like, sometimes an almost obsessive wondering. Maybe part of him just wants to prove something, to prove that on some level Simon _does_ want him even though he's always claiming he really, really doesn't. In a weird way it's never even been about sexual attraction, particularly, more curiosity and conquest. Because Simon's just—Simon, funny little Simon, an awkward little twig of a man, and it's entertaining telling him he's sexy and gorgeous just to watch him blush and squirm but he's never really _meant_ it, never realised there was any truth hiding there underneath the teasing, just waiting to be discovered.

And right now his mind is suddenly a hyperactive blur of pornographic images and his heart skips a beat at the idea that he might get to see even one of them tonight, if he keeps playing his cards right. It doesn't make any sense to him, but there's a lot of things about his sexuality that he doesn't totally understand. Noel, for one—the instant heady rush he felt when he first realised Noel was flirting with him during that first Big Fat Quiz, the way it was like a switch just flipped in his brain and he had to have him, it didn't matter that he was a bloke, he would've done anything to keep Noel looking at him like that, giggly and sparkly-eyed. He remembers how their hands kept brushing deliberately beneath the desk, finding any excuse to touch, and every moment of skin-to-skin contact would send a shock of want between Russell's legs.

Right now Noel slips off the sofa, getting to his knees, and Russell, catching his drift, stretches out a foot to push the coffee table further back, making space for Noel to nestle between Simon's legs. Simon breaks the kiss, eyes darting immediately to Noel. He looks like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

"Oh, gosh, really?" he says, in that odd way he has, of exaggerating genuine surprise in order to make it sound false, insincere and mocking. " _Well_."

"Shush now," Russell suggests, running a hand over Simon's torso, rumpling the worn fabric of his t-shirt. 

"I mean, I didn't exp—"

"Just relax," Russell continues, trying to sound as soothing as he can, desperate for Simon not to say anything that will ruin this. He's now sort of stroking Simon's chest and stomach haphazardly, as if he's petting a cat. He's so thin Russell can feel individual ribs under his palm. Noel has his hands on Simon's bony knees, gently encouraging them wider apart. Russell's hand travels lower and lands questioningly on Simon's fly. A little thrill runs through him as he realises he can feel the shape of Simon's cock rather easily like this, the firmness of it under his hot palm.

"Oh, for god's sake, all right," says Simon. Mostly he just wants Russell to get on with it and stop simply fondling him. "But really, only because you're both being so nauseatingly persistent." He sighs, trying to seem unaffected even though it's probably fairly obvious that he's gone sort of sweaty and red, and is horribly hard besides. "I thought _I_ was the desperate one," he adds disparagingly, but Russell only shushes him again and Noel just laughs.

"He's very good," Russell confides, and in the blink of an eye he's got Simon's jeans undone, with one hand, in a frankly impressive show of dexterity. 

"I'm sure," says Simon, and he means it, but it comes out sarcastic through force of habit. Noel gives him a look somewhere between playful and glowering, dark eyelashes lowered, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, and then Simon decides he can't look at him anymore and clamps a hand over his eyes.

Neither Noel nor Russell seem to react to this as though it's anything odd, and Simon feels Noel's hands at his crotch this time, surprisingly gentle, reaching for the waistband of Simon's boxers and pulling it down to expose his cock, fingers skimming over it. The contact makes Simon shudder involuntarily. In truth it's not even really a shudder, more of a full-body jolt, like he's been shocked. 

"Steady," Noel murmurs, and wraps a sure hand around him, and this time Simon reacts by pushing his hips forward instinctively, like he's thrusting into the touch, embarrassingly eager. 

"Aw, it's nice, innit? Forgot he wouldn't have a foreskin," Russell comments then, loudly, and it's almost irritating enough to make Simon go soft, or at least he'd like to think so.

"Yeah, looks sort of naked. Left its polo neck at home," Noel replies, making Simon cringe. "I like it though."

"Oh god," Simon hears himself say, flatly, but he can't seem to get any further than that.

"'S'it bigger than what you expected?" Russell goes on, conversational, and Simon suddenly feels two cool fingertips brush the very tip of his cock in the briefest, cruellest manner. Not being able to see what's happening means he's completely unprepared and, as a result, does the embarrassing hip-jerk again. He's extremely aware of the fact that he's so tightly-wound that if Russell did that even one more time, it could be enough to make him come, and the thought makes him vaguely furious. He seethes, trying to form a sentence.

"Mm, not sure," Noel murmurs thoughtfully. "Yeah, maybe. Hadn't given it much thought. You?"

"Always thought he might secretly have a big one." 

" _Please_ stop discussing my penis and suck it instead," Simon blurts, finally, and he feels his face burn hot.

"Aww, poor darlin'," Russell chuckles. "Yeah, let's quit teasing the poor fella, shall we, Noel?"

"You started it," Noel sighs, and then adds—quiet, and so close Simon can feel his breath against the hypersensitive, overheated skin of his cock—"alright, alright."

And then Simon feels his cock being drawn into the soft, slick warmth of Noel's mouth, and he inhales sharply. It feels so good he almost wants to cry. He tries very hard to get a grip and not immediately come down Noel's throat. He realises, belatedly, that his right hand—the one that's not covering his eyes—is grasping for purchase beside him, which means that he is effectively clutching at Russell's thigh in a way he would probably find more embarrassing if he could focus properly. But it doesn't matter, because Noel is pulling him over the flat of his tongue and Simon is seeing stars.

"Go on, look at 'im," Russell prompts, "you're missing out on a beautiful sight, Si."

Simon takes a couple of deep breaths and then prises his hand off his face. He looks down to see Noel kneeling between his spread thighs, lips stretched and glistening around his cock—and it's almost too much, he starts to shut his eyes tight but finds that he can't, transfixed as Noel takes him deeper, easing him into his throat. Simon can _see_ the slight struggle, the way Noel has to force his mouth wide, his mouth stuffed full and his bright blue eyes going a little wet at the corners. 

"Oh," he hears himself say, stupidly, as Noel fits his throat around him, tight and hot and—sort of _fluttering_ , and Simon squeezes Russell's thigh tightly, fingernails digging into denim. He can't tear his gaze from Noel but out of the corner of his eye he can see Russell grinning at him, dirty and pleased.

"Good, inne?"

"Mmph," Simon replies eloquently, staring in something like awe as Noel works him all the way into the back of his throat, and then his nose is pressed right to Simon's stomach, forcefully enough for Simon to feel almost bruised by the long sharp boniness of it for a second before he's easing off, slow, coughing gently and looking wicked. He doesn't say anything, just wraps a few fingers round the base of Simon's erection to hold him still as he licks at him like a tease, gives a cheeky wet kiss to the side of his shaft.

Noel is enjoying himself. For some reason, up until a few minutes ago, he couldn't even imagine Simon in a sexual situation, which was troublesome, because Noel likes to think he's capable of imagining a hell of a lot of things, including many that most people probably can't. And it's fun to discover what it's actually like, fun to try get Simon to make little noises, to see the flushed and stunned look on his face, to see him lost for words. (Though he also quite enjoyed that moment earlier when Simon essentially told him to shut up and suck him off. That's something he's going to have to think about some more later, when he's no longer busy.)

He shoots Russell a grin, noting the sizeable bulge in his tight jeans. Russell leans forward to ruffle Noel's hair a little, push it out of his eyes, and Noel leans into the touch, feeling a little jolt of pleasure buzz its way down his spine. He takes Simon's cock between his lips again and works him back and forth, enjoying the taste, the feel of him filling his mouth, along with the feeling of Russell's fingers still toying with his hair.

"Go on, all the way," Russell coaxes, his voice rough, like it's _his_ dick Noel's sucking, and Noel pulls off and swallows before delving back in, slick and gulping, relaxing his throat to let Simon's cock fill it once again. He looks at Russell now as he works it in, enjoying the sight of his glazed eyes and slack mouth. And then he touches his nose to Simon's stomach again, nuzzles it into his pubic hair, and feels Russell's hand tighten in his hair, holding him there. Arousal thrills through him at the same time as a tiny, exciting stab of panic, and he gags slightly, feeling a stinging in his sinuses, and then—

"Oh god, stop, please stop," Simon exclaims suddenly, breathless, "I'm—I'm going to come."

Russell lets go and Noel pulls off, a little puzzled. He wraps his palm around Simon instead, and says, "'s'okay," in an extremely hoarse voice.

"No," Simon says, looking a little frantic. "No—if I come I think I'll instantly no longer have any interest in this whole situation and will probably just want to go home and go to bed."

"Oh, well in that case," Russell interrupts immediately, batting Noel's hand away from Simon's erection. "You heard the man. Shall we take things to the bedroom before there's any further risk of this being the end of it all?"

"Very generous of you to let us know," says Noel, voice still coming out a bit scratchy, as he eyes Simon curiously. "Could've just got yours and gone home."

Russell is already getting to his feet, adjusting himself in his trousers.

"Well, you know, that's me. I'm just such a generous guy," Simon says, looking uneasy and embarrassed as he tries to stuff his cock back into his boxers.

Noel grins at him, his head tilted. He has a sneaking suspicion that it's not just politeness, the societal expectation of reciprocation that's made Simon choose not to come when he could have—he thinks maybe Simon actually wants more.

Russell holds out a hand to help Noel up off the floor, and Noel takes it, clambering to his feet and giving a little curtsey in response.

"C'mon then."

Simon is very thankful that Russell's bedroom is not far, because the humiliation of having to get to his feet and actually walk even the short distance across the apartment with his trousers half undone and his cock still achingly hard and stuffed uncomfortably in there is almost unbearable. As soon as they enter the room, Noel flops comfortably onto the bed on his back, limbs spread like a starfish, while Russell heads straight to the bedside table and flicks open a drawer with practised ease, rummaging about inside it.

Simon stands there awkwardly, thinking about the legions of women who have probably been in this position, and he sort of wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He's only faintly surprised that Russell's not lighting candles or incense or something.

Noel distracts him then by propping himself up on his elbows and jutting his chin at Simon in a "c'mere" gesture.

"Let me guess," says Simon, unable to keep the scathing tone from his voice entirely, though he does try, "you're going to say something about me returning the favour."

Noel laughs, in a sort of hoarse and drowsy way that Simon finds more attractive than he should. "No," he says. "That'd be way too much of a cliché."

"So what then?"

"I dunno. I'm too horny to think of something more original." Noel sighs, running a hand back through his hair. "But, y'know. I would like it if you wanted to suck my cock."

"Mm. Creative," says Simon, approaching the bed nonetheless, because fuck it, he does want to. 

Noel smiles at him lazily, tipping his head back, watching Simon as he clambers awkwardly onto the bed, shuffling himself into place between Noel's spread legs. He sits back on his ankles, reaching for Noel's crotch, and he manages to get his fly undone without too much fiddling, but his palms are sweaty and he's distracted by the erection pushing against the tight denim, the heat of it. He feels like he shouldn't be surprised that Noel's not wearing any underwear under his jeans but still, it's a bit startling to drag down the zip and find skin beneath, hot and clinging. A slight nudge and Noel's cock springs out, thick and already so wet at the tip that it's glistening in the dim light of Russell's bedroom.

Simon swallows. "Oh," he says, and hates the stupid sound of his own voice, wishes he could at least say something sexy if he can't just keep his mouth shut.

Noel says "Yeah," in response, with a little huff of a laugh, which is not exactly suave either but damn him, somehow he manages to make it hot.

Simon ducks his head and licks one long stripe up the length of Noel's cock with the flat of his tongue, and Noel groans encouragingly, his head dropping right back so Simon can see the sharp underside of his chin. Simon likes both of those things a lot; the noise and the view. He steadies his hands on Noel's hips and opens his mouth a little wider, moves it more messily over Noel's cock, this time tasting the slick head of it. He sucks gently there, trying to calm himself down, ease himself back into this, focusing on the slightly frantic drumbeat of his own heart in his ears and waiting for it to slow before going any further. Suddenly Noel squirms beneath him and hisses a sharp "Fuck," and Simon realises that what he's doing is probably a bit intense and takes Noel's cock deeper into his mouth. 

He's vaguely aware that Russell has stopped rummaging through drawers and is now just standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. The deliberate sleaziness of the pose makes Simon want to laugh, but it also has the (probably intended) effect of making him feel scrutinised, even more self-conscious and under pressure.

Russell reaches down to squeeze himself through his jeans, enjoying the view. He always wondered— _always wondered_ , what does that say about him?—what Simon'd look like sucking cock, and it turns out, pretty darn ravishing. His cheeks hollow as he sucks, a few fingers curled around the base of Noel's cock and steadily pumping what he can't fit into his mouth, and Russell can hear the filthy sounds they're making, the wet noise each time Noel accidentally pushes too far into Simon's throat and Noel's increasingly high-pitched whines, needy and desperate. 

Russell decides that's enough watching, time to participate, and gathers up the handful of items he'd chosen from the wide selection he keeps beside his bed. Truth be told he didn't give it much thought, just fished out a few condoms and a couple of different types of lube (some people have preferences, after all) but when he crawls onto the bed and deposits the little collection beside him on the quilt, Simon gives him a very judgmental look.

"More where that came from, lads," Russell says proudly. "And anything else you might need. Even got some weird lambskin condoms somewhere since this one time I missed out on sleeping with a bird what had a latex allergy—sorry, Simon, not very vegan-friendly, but there's lots more, is the point. Different flavours of lube and all that. Toys, even, if you're feeling adventurous—"

Simon cuts him off. "You're either very optimistic, or showing off. Or both," he says snarkily, but Russell has a hard time actually processing the words because Simon's lips have gone very shiny and red, and his cheeks are flushed and his pupils dilated in a terribly fetching way. 

"Sucking cock makes you awfully pretty, Si," he replies. "Anyway, don't let me distract you now, get back to it."

Simon laughs in a sort of despairing way, shaking his head, but does as he's told, pleasingly, going back to Noel's cock and even allowing Noel to rake a gentle hand through his beautiful curls. 

Russell watches a bit more and then shuffles closer, what Simon would probably classify as "too close" under ordinary circumstances, but thankfully these are not ordinary circumstances and that means he can get away with reaching beneath Simon and fiddling with his trousers again. Simon makes a very slight noise, but allows Russell to get his fly undone again and to push his trousers and boxers down over his hips, letting them bunch up above his bony little bent knees. Russell strokes a skinny thigh with an encouraging hand and Simon lifts one knee and then the other, allowing Russell to slip the clothes all the way off. Russell doesn't miss the way Simon's cheeks flush a little darker at the feeling of exposure. 

He gently peels off Simon's socks one by one, too, tossing each one in a random direction, then ducks his head and pushes Simon's t-shirt up a bit to treat himself to a little look at Simon's erection, dark against his pale stomach. It's still weird how attractive it is, but by now he's mostly stopped caring. The point is, it means Simon is turned the fuck on, and that's a satisfying fact, one that makes arousal twist in the pit of Russell's stomach.

It's getting to the point where he's so hard himself that it's pretty uncomfortable, so he straightens up and sets about getting his jeans undone. First he has to remove two belts—one functional and one decorative—so while he's dealing with that, he gives himself a moment to enjoy the sight in front of him, Simon on all fours, pale little arse bared and sticking up in the air as his head bobs in Noel's lap, and Noel reclining, one hand cupped behind his own head and the other cradling Simon's, gently guiding, feeding his cock into Simon's mouth. 

Russell gets his belts off and tosses them aside, hurriedly undoing his jeans and sticking his hand down them, giving himself some much-needed attention. A few necessary strokes first, and then he finishes stripping off and turns his attention back to Simon, good little Simon on his hands and knees, half-undressed and sucking Noel's cock.

Russell rubs a hand up and down Simon's back encouragingly, rumpling his threadbare t-shirt, feeling the knobs of his spine beneath. He dips the hand under Simon's stomach, feeling for his cock again, finding it hot and so hard, pulsing and sticky against Russell's palm. Russell holds it loosely at first, just marvelling at it, and then gives it a bit of a squeeze, experimental.

Simon interprets this mostly as an attempt to get a rise out of him, so he focuses doubly hard on ignoring Russell, suckling intently on Noel's cock.

For a moment this seems to have the desired effect, as the hand around his cock disappears, but then he hears the unmistakeable sound of Russell spitting into his palm before he feels it return, slick and sturdy as it begins to stroke him. And it's not that he doesn't want it, it's just that it's _Russell_. He's spent almost their entire friendship trying to make it absolutely crystal clear to Russell that no, he actually doesn't fancy him, not even a little bit, and no, he really doesn't want to sleep with him, and no, even if Russell were interested, he still wouldn't. "You're just not my _type_ ," he has often ended up screeching in exasperation, which has never worked because Russell's type seems to include most of the female population so he doesn't really understand the concept. Plus, Russell's vanity prevents him from being able to fully grasp the concept that someone who is attracted to men still might not be attracted to him specifically. And so, it has always fallen on deaf ears, which is frustrating, but even more frustrating is the fact that what's happening right now is probably giving Russell the impression that Simon's been lying this entire time. 

And, if he's truly honest with himself, the really terrifying part is the thought that _maybe he has._ Oh, the horror.

"C'mon," says Noel suddenly, breathless and needy, and Simon realises his inner turmoil has distracted him from the blowjob he's in the middle of giving. Noel grins, flushed, wriggling his hips playfully, and Simon can't help but smile as he takes him back into his mouth. It's reassuring, Noel being here. To Noel, none of this really means anything. This is probably just a normal Monday night for Noel Fielding, and he'd be glad to know that his presence is making everything feel much more surreal and therefore easier to go along with.

Russell is still steadily working Simon's cock, getting the pressure and the rhythm just right so Simon never gets dangerously close to coming, just feels a bit of the edge taken off, the sharp spike of his arousal being dulled into a gentle, easy pleasure. Simon is dismayed to learn that Russell is apparently still good at sex even if it's with another man. A natural skill, he supposes, and resents it. Russell's bracelets jangle with the movements of his wrist, the sound mingling with Noel's breathy whimpers. Russell's other hand is on the small of Simon's back, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt and then sneaking lower, palms smoothing over Simon's arse in a way that is—unfortunately—not unpleasant. Depressingly, it's just nice to be touched, nerves sparking in places of him that have been ignored for too long. 

And then Russell's index finger slips down, almost as if by accident, and Simon can feel the shape of one of his gaudy rings nudging against his skin as his fingertip probes deeper, finding his hole easily and just stroking it, rubbing back and forth.

Simon will have to have a talk with Russell later about the assumption that gay sex must involve penetration, and more importantly, the assumption that Simon in particular must want something up his bottom, but right now he stays silent. Ordinarily, he would appreciate a "You okay?" or a "This all right?" but right now he's actually grateful for Russell's lack of—well—bedside manner, because if Russell doesn't ask him if he wants this, Simon doesn't have to admit that he does. Part of him wishes that he _didn't_ , just so he could give Russell a bit of a talking-to right now, instead of arching his back and relaxing his muscles and bitterly imagining the self-satisfied smirk on Russell's face. He doesn't actually know who he's more annoyed with, Russell or himself. Russell's a dear friend, he really is, but Simon can't help wondering if he hates himself even more than he thought he did, if he's really about to have sex with him. _Awful slut_ , he berates himself half-heartedly.

Russell probably won't actually fuck him, anyway. He can't wrap his head around the idea of Russell being willing to put his cock up another man's arse, even though Russell's done a lot of things tonight that Simon never thought he'd do. He would've laughed at the idea before, and indeed did, when Russell used to regale him with tales of the sort of things he and Noel got up to. None of that involved penetration, though, as far as he can recall—he never took it seriously but even so he's pretty sure he'd remember.

However, right now, the hand round Simon's cock disappears for a moment and he hears the unmistakeable snick of one of those bottles of lube being opened, and then the other hand leaves too, and returns slick and cool and ringless, now sliding smoothly over puckered skin and making Simon twitch slightly. 

He forgets entirely about Noel's cock, letting it slip out of his mouth with a wet sound, and then, embarrassingly, he hears himself say, "Um."

"Yes, darling?" says Russell nonchalantly, exerting a tiny bit more pressure so that his fingertip almost presses inside.

Simon swallows a gasp. "Um," he repeats, a bit more urgently, the breath catching in his throat.

"Yeah? Got something you wanna say, dear?"

Everything hangs in the balance for a few seconds and then Simon exhales heavily. "Oh, fuck it," he says crossly. "Go on, then."

Noel laughs softly, drawing back a little to give Simon the space to spread out, get comfortable—his hands slip from Noel's hips to the duvet either side, clenched and braced, fingers digging into the fabric, and he arches his back just a touch more. Noel reaches down to touch himself, fist lazily wrapping itself around his cock as he props himself up on one elbow to watch. He can't see too well from here, but he can tell when Russell begins to push his finger inside Simon, judging from the way Simon bites very hard on his bottom lip and grips the sheets so tightly Noel can see the bones of his knuckles.

He reaches out to caress Simon's fever-warm cheek—with the hand that was just on his cock, but at this point he's pretty sure nobody minds—and Simon makes as if to brush him off irritably but ends up sort of nuzzling into the touch instead, which is, frankly, adorable. "You all right?" Noel murmurs.

Simon doesn't respond—at least not with words; he does push back against Russell's hand rather charmingly and make a needy noise in the back of his throat. Noel sits up to get a better view, taking the chance to wriggle out of his jeans and toss them aside so he can sit more comfortably, legs lazily crossed as he cranes his neck to try and see where Russell's hand is curved against Simon's arse. 

"How's he feel?" Noel asks, hand going back to his own erection.

"Oh, wondrous, Noel," Russell says, in his usual way, only his voice's gone a little deeper and a little more breathy. "Fantastic. Phantasmagorical."

"I don't think you're using that word correctly," Simon manages to get out. 

"Now now, Simon, just shush and take a compliment when it's offered you," Russell tuts, and judging by the movement of Russell's hand and the way Simon bites his lip again, he has added a second finger.

"So am I gonna get a chance to experience that phantasmagoria, or?" Noel prompts.

"You mean, who's gonna fuck him?"

"I mean who's gonna fuck him, yeah."

Simon sort of laughs; a choked-off, incredulous sound. "Oh, fuck you," he hisses, fixing his eyes on Noel, his face red.

"Not tonight," Noel says playfully, ruffling Simon's hair a little, fingertips teasing the curls at the top of his head. "Tonight's gonna be all about you."

"Oh, lucky me," Simon deadpans, but Russell must do something particularly spectacular with his fingers at this point because Simon barely manages to stifle a pleased little gasp, and one hand jerks from the bed and lands instead on Noel's bare ankle, clutching.

"Lucky you," Noel grins. 

He suspects that Russell isn't quite ready to actually go all the way, tonight. They've never gone that far when it's just been the two of them, though Noel always felt that they were perhaps building up to it. After all, an arse is an arse, innit, whether it's attached to a lady or a bloke? That's always been Noel's view, at least. But he senses that Russell isn't quite _there_ yet, and of course he won't want to admit that right now, cocky little bugger that he is. He'll want to give them both the impression that he's up for anything, so as to remain in control.

So Noel, very sensitively, decides to say, "Can I have a go, then?"

Simon laughs disbelievingly again. "Oh, so I don't get a say in this at all? Charming."

"Why, would you rather Russell?" Noel asks cheekily, knowing this will shut him up. (Anyway, he has a sneaking suspicion that Simon is secretly getting off on this whole scenario.)

"Alright," says Russell then, rather brusquely, and Noel would assume he was hurt by Simon's tacit choosing of Noel over him, if that weren't such an absurd thought. "C'mon then. I'd say he's more than ready."

Noel shuffles over clumsily on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he goes and chucking it over the side of the bed.

"What d'you think, Noel?" Russell goes on, exaggeratedly, and actually takes Noel by the wrist, pulling his hand towards Simon's arse. 

"Alright, settle down," Noel says, "he is a _person_."

Russell withdraws his fingers a tad reluctantly, and Simon shifts uneasily—Noel knows that feeling, adjusting to the loss, clenching around nothing. He replaces Russell's fingers with one of his own quickly, feels how Simon has been worked open a little already by Russell's ministrations, slick with lube but still so tight. He fucks him with it for a bit before easing another in, and then after few moments he's teasing around the rim with a third knuckle and it seems almost easy now, feeling the way Simon yields to it.

"Christ," Noel mutters, looking at the sight of skinny little Simon sprawled out on his knees and forearms, his t-shirt riding up his arched back, his arse stretched around Noel's fingers.

It would be so easy to take him like this, to spread a hand out across his back, slide it between his shoulder blades and press down, making him stick his arse up in the air to be entered. It'd be so easy to push inside from this angle, to plunge in deep. An animalistic part of Noel wants to hold him down and fuck him, can imagine gripping a handful of his t-shirt, bunching the soft worn cotton up in his fist and using it as leverage as he thrusts back and forth.

But Simon pulls away then, surprising him, pulling right off and turning around, up on his knees, blushing and avoiding eye contact as he grabs Noel by the shoulders suddenly and kisses him, thumbs trembling slightly and adorably against Noel's collarbones.

Noel opens his mouth to it and Simon exhales shakily, tongue slipping between Noel's lips, his whole body overheated and hypersensitive, eager and hungry, yet forever fighting the urge to just give in to it all. He almost could've done it—could've laid there and taken it, pressed his hot face into Russell's sheets and let Noel do what he wanted—but he won't let himself, _can't_ let himself. 

He knows this is about conquest for them, about getting him to submit to them in whatever way they can, about making him admit that he wants to. He suspects Noel would probably let him top him if they were alone (and that's a tantalising thought) but never in front of Russell. In front of Russell, Noel is trying for swagger and dominance. The two of them are a team and Simon can feel it. It makes him _want_ to defy them, but he's already slipping into a hazier place where it doesn't seem worth the trouble, not when he knows it's going to be either Noel fucking him or nothing. 

Still, he has to make _some_ effort. He tightens his hold on Noel's shoulders ever so slightly, thankful when Noel catches his drift and shifts further up the bed. Simon only has to play at being assertive, really—he barely has to nudge Noel's chest before Noel is lying back on the bed, grinning that unsettling grin that always makes Simon feel like he's reading his mind. Noel shuffles further up the bed until his head hits a pillow, and Simon wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, faking confidence as he straddles Noel's thighs, reaching with a shaky hand for one of the condoms lying on the bed beside them.

Then Russell's looming in, determined not to be forgotten about, grabbing one of the little foil packets before Simon manages it. Simon feels awkward again, not having anything to do but watch as Russell opens the packet and slides a condom onto Noel's erection, stroking him a few times for good measure, Noel grinning back at him cheekily.

Simon takes a shaky breath as Russell withdraws his hand. His heart is in his throat, anxiety still coursing through his veins. He's horribly aware of the fear of fucking this up, of embarrassing himself, of how on earth he's ever going to face either of them again after tonight—but at the same time he can sense that the fear is being dulled, clouding over with a thick haze of arousal, a sort of fog making him feel like those things don't matter so much, at least not as much as the urge to have a cock inside of him. It's been a long time since he's been drunk, but he feels a little bit like that now, struggling to focus on any one thought in his head except the one reminding him how badly he needs this.

Russell uncaps the lube again, and instead of stroking it onto Noel's cock with his hand like a normal person, he drizzles it directly from the bottle. Noel gasps at the chill of it and laughs, his cock twitching, and Simon rolls his eyes. Everything has to be such a _performance_ with Russell. Simon has wondered before what Russell would be like during sex, not out of any personal curiosity but simply because it's difficult to be _around_ Russell and not end up following that train of thought at least once or twice. His personality is so defined by his sexuality that conversations with him often demand Simon to picture him in ways he'd rather not. And, at least so far, his imagination matches up with reality. Russell is being a show-off, acting like he's in a porn film, over-confident and obnoxious in a way that Simon would be totally turned off by if he weren't so desperate.

Simon reaches for Noel's cock, making sure he's fully slicked up, and then reaches behind himself to smear some of the lube where he's worried there might not be quite enough. He steadies one hand up on Noel's chest, and guides Noel's cock between his legs with the other, holding it firmly as he eases it inside himself. He can't look at Noel's face but he can feel his eyes on him, Russell's too, as he keeps his head ducked low like he's concentrating, feeling himself open up against the blunt head of Noel's cock. 

He forces himself to breathe steadily, to relax and let it in, but even so it hurts a little bit as it breaches him, a dull ache. He feels agonisingly aware of every inch of his own body and for a moment he wonders why he even wants this, what's enjoyable about it, when exactly does it start feeling good?—and then, _oh_. He forgot—he _forgot_ exactly what this feels like; to be filled, to have somebody else inside of him. It's like nothing else, and pleasure floods his system, and he thinks, _god, okay, maybe this is worth all the anguish._ One of Noel's hands is gently curved at his waist, one of Russell's stroking circles on his back in a way he wants to find irritating but is oddly comforting. He bites his lip to cut off the _ah_ noise that tumbles out of his mouth as he sinks lower, Noel's cock deep enough now that he can take his hand away and guide it the rest of the way with his body. 

"You good?" asks Noel in a gentle murmur once Simon is fully seated in his lap.

"Mm," Simon manages. He forces himself to look at Noel's face and is rewarded with the sight of heavy-lidded eyes and a lazy smile.

"Good boy," Russell says, still rubbing Simon's back, and Simon gives him a withering look but can't manage much else, every part of him zeroing in on the feel of Noel's cock filling him, solid and stretching. 

Russell shrugs off his shirt and settles back to watch, lazily palming his cock as Simon starts to work up a rhythm, a little stilted at first as he adjusts—and if Russell leans back and tilts his head he can see where Noel's cock is buried to the hilt. It looks big inside Simon, thick and stretching him, and Russell swallows back a rush of jealousy as he imagines how tight Simon must feel. He doesn't want to be in Noel's place, not _really_ , but still, there was some strange part of him that hoped Simon might ask. When he was fingering him, he realised he was trying to find that spot that might make Simon writhe and beg. It would've taken the decision out of his hands, in a way, if Simon had asked for it. He would've felt that he had to, and that wouldn't have been all bad. It would've given him an excuse.

But he's content to watch—Noel's cock opening Simon up, and Simon awkwardly but eagerly figuring out how best to ride it, clutching at Noel's chest as he lifts himself up and sinks back down, his breathing just a touch heavier than normal, his lips parted as if in a permanent gasp. There's something strangely hot about the fact that he's kept his t-shirt on, perhaps the way it makes this whole thing seem more rushed and sordid, like he was so desperate to get fucked he couldn't even be bothered getting fully undressed. Or maybe it betrays a bit of his insecurity, another thing about him that Russell finds oddly attractive.

Noel flashes Russell a grin and reaches around to clutch at Simon's arse. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip and there's a look in his eyes that Russell recognises, a look that means _I want to suck your cock._ They've done this enough times now not to always need to say the words out loud. He shifts further up the bed, pushing pillows aside to settle beside Noel's head, and Noel is turning towards his cock immediately, taking it into his mouth, unbothered by the slightly awkward angle. Russell swears gratefully as he sinks into the wet heat of Noel's mouth, and he brushes his fingers against Noel's jaw, trailing them up to his cheekbone, deliberately pushing the head of his cock against the inside of Noel's cheek to feel it from the outside. Noel's pupils are wide and dark, and then his eyes are drifting shut.

Russell rocks gently back and forth, fucking Noel's mouth as he watches Simon working himself up and down on Noel's cock, moving more easily now, relaxing into it, riding him with a slightly frantic sort of rhythm, eyes cast down, fingers flexing against Noel's chest. His own cock is hard and bobbing against his stomach with every movement, and Russell feels a twinge of arousal when he notices the damp spot it's leaving on the cotton of his t-shirt every time it slaps against it. He reaches out to touch it in sympathy, and Simon makes a delightful sort of whimpering sound and loses his rhythm, bucking erratically. Russell strokes him encouragingly, hearing himself saying mindless things like "There you go," and "That's it," as he ruts more keenly against Noel's mouth. He misses it on one thrust and slides the length of his cock across Noel's face instead accidentally, groaning as Noel fumbles to get him back in his mouth, lips working wet and messy.

As good as this is he can't help wondering what it'd be like if Simon were sucking him instead. He can imagine it in vivid detail—getting up and pushing his cock into Simon's open mouth so he's filled from both ends, easing off one cock only to take another one deeper. The thought makes him grip a tight handful of Noel's hair (which is fine, Noel likes that) but he doesn't dare do it, though Simon's parted red lips are almost taunting him. He so intensely aware that the fact that any of this is happening in the first place is a fucking blessing, and he knows he has to be _careful_ , because one step too far and he wouldn't put it past Simon to storm off in a huff, even now. But _god_ , he wants.

It's still difficult for Simon to believe that this is happening, and there's a distant part of his mind screaming in panic about it all, and another part making sure he knows that Russell and Noel probably aren't taking this seriously, they probably aren't even really attracted to him, they're just taking pity. Or else he's still just some kind of pawn in their sex games and he doesn't matter that much at all. He tries to focus on rocking against Noel, riding the hard length of his cock inside him, each movement serving to push his own erection through Russell's fist. He tries to lose himself in the feeling while his mind constantly pulls him back. Watching Noel sucking Russell off is making it worse, making him want more, seeing Noel's lips and cheek glistening wet, Russell's cock pushing into his mouth. 

At that moment Russell's hand slips away from Simon's cock, and without really even knowing what he's doing, maybe just wanting further intimacy or another physical sensation, Simon finds himself reaching for Noel's throat, grabbing uncertainly at his chin and turning his head away from Russell. Russell's cock slips out of Noel's mouth, and Simon leans down, shivering slightly at the change in angle of Noel's cock inside him, and kisses Noel needily, open-mouthed and panting. Noel holds him tightly and kisses back, and warmth floods through Simon's body, and he's so dazed it takes him a second to realise that he can taste Russell's cock on Noel's tongue. It takes him another few seconds to realise this should be putting him off and that instead, he's kissing Noel even more urgently.

It's only then that he stops, and not because he wants to but because he feels like he _ought_ to want to. He can tell he must be getting worked up, getting to that stage of sex he'd almost forgotten about, when it feels so good that he can't concentrate on anything else like his silly anxieties and principles and self-consciousness, when arousal takes the reins and it's like nothing else really matters. It's a heady feeling and the fact that it's been so long since he experienced it only makes it more intense. He doesn't sit all the way up again, enjoying the way Noel feels inside him like this, and the way he looks into his eyes when their lips part.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye he can see Russell's cock, can sense that what Russell really wants right now is for Simon to take it into his mouth, and god, Simon almost could, almost _wants_ to, high on the hedonism of it all, feeling a rush of shameful pleasure at the thought of it, of having the two of them at once. But there's something still holding him back, something stubborn and almost vindictive, not wanting to give Russell what he wants, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. It would feel like proving him right, after all this time.

So he straightens back up, ignoring the way his mouth feels wetter, ignoring the slight salty taste on his tongue. Noel's hands are on his hips and his grip tightens, and he looks at Simon questioningly, sitting up a bit.

"All right if we—?" he asks, voice rough and eye make-up smudged, and Simon just nods, allows Noel to roll him over so he's lying on his back, far gone enough now that he doesn't feel the need to pretend like he doesn't want Noel to fuck him into the mattress.

Still, he feels more vulnerable like this, spread out on Russell's expensive sheets, Noel taking control, easing his legs up in the air and guiding his cock back inside him, sliding in easy. He clutches at Noel's thighs, feeling the muscle of them, and lets himself moan just a little as Noel fits in all the way. He lets himself forget about Russell temporarily, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, letting Noel fuck into him hard and fast, feeling his own cock slapping against his tummy.

"God, you feel good," Noel groans, and Simon flushes, squeezing at Noel's hips, feeling his cock driving back and forth.

When he opens his eyes again he sees Russell's face above him, a look in his eyes that Simon doesn't think he's ever actually seen before, a neediness that makes him suddenly more attractive. Russell runs a hand back through his tangled sweaty hair, and Simon glances down to see that his other hand is rapidly working his cock, and this time there doesn't seem to be any showiness in it. Simon can't say what it is but suddenly it's not something seedy and gross, Russell wanking off watching Simon getting fucked, suddenly it's just—natural, and human. Simon licks his lips instinctively, eyes darting from Russell's face to his cock, and Russell bites his lip, eyes pleading. It really is disconcertingly attractive.

"Please, Si," Russell chokes out, then, "fuck. _Please._ "

And somehow that makes it okay, the fact that Simon's made Russell _beg_ for it—maybe it just shows that this is more than Russell proving some kind of perverted point, that they've gone beyond that, or maybe it's just that Simon feels like he's back in control, back in the position of power. Whatever it is, suddenly it's easy to turn his head and open his mouth, and Russell doesn't immediately shove in but instead stays very, very still, as if afraid Simon might just be teasing. Simon tastes the tip of Russell's cock with his tongue, finding the same taste as in Noel's mouth, and Russell _whimpers_. Simon glows with pleasure and takes Russell between his lips.

Noel is struck by the difference in Russell's behaviour all of a sudden, how gentle he seems, how he's letting Simon just do what he wants instead of trying to take control and fuck his mouth. It's like he knows he's lucky Simon's doing this at all, one false move and it's over. Kind of funny, really.

Even so, Russell can't repress his personality entirely. Noel can tell it's taking a lot out of him just to stay quiet. "God," he breathes eventually. "That's good. You're really good, love. Simon. Fuck."

Noel grins. At least he's gone for harmless compliments—the most Simon will do in response to that is roll his eyes or give Russell a contemptuous look, and Noel's faintly surprised that he doesn't actually do either, just lets his eyes drift shut almost blissfully. His cheeks are very pink, but they've been that way for a while now. Noel sneaks a hand round to wrap around Simon's cock, which is an angry red and still leaking onto his t-shirt, and must be aching. He's surprised Simon hasn't come yet, actually, especially since it's apparently been such a long dry spell for him, but then, judging by what he said earlier, maybe he's just trying to get everything he can out of this experience before his orgasm brings it to an end. There's also the fact that he's so uptight it might just take him a while to relax enough in order to come.

Noel wants to help with that. He tilts his hips up a bit and fucks Simon slow and deep, stroking his cock in time with the thrusts, watching closely as Simon starts to lose himself in the feeling. His mouth is moving along Russell's cock like he's sucking him off without really thinking too hard about it, which Noel thinks is a good sign. 

And then Russell whines, "Fuck. I want to come in your hair."

Noel stifles a laugh and holds his breath, but Simon only pulls off just long enough to laugh hoarsely and say, "Not happening," before getting back to it.

Noel wouldn't have expected Russell to come so soon, would've thought he'd be more competitive about this. He at least expected his stamina to be better than Simon's. But again it seems like he's just taking what he can get, okay with coming first if it means he gets to do it in Simon's mouth.

"Can I—your mouth?" Russell gets out, and Simon doesn't react, just keeps sucking, which seems a pretty clear _yes_. Noel slows down his thrusts, watching as Russell struggles to keep from touching Simon and then gives in, fingers tenderly tangling through sweat-damp curls as he squeezes his eyes shut, his hips jerking forwards and then going stock-still before a shudder wracks his body. He moans and Noel sees Simon swallow around the head of Russell's cock, his throat working. He keeps sucking until Russell starts getting twitchy, and then pulls off, swallowing again and wiping his lips with the back of his hand, opening his eyes but not focusing them anywhere in particular, embarrassed.

"I—fuck," says Russell, and then folds himself over to kiss Simon squarely on the mouth in gratitude. Noel sees Simon wrinkle his nose a little but he allows it, even when Russell briefly slips him the tongue.

Russell slides a hand down Simon's chest and stomach down to his cock, taking it from Noel, clearly eager to return the favour. He starts stroking him quickly and Noel tries to sync up but he's so close himself that it's difficult, and the rhythm is erratic. He pushes Simon's legs up a bit, hands hooked behind his knees, and Simon gasps sharply. Noel keeps that angle and pounds into him.

"Is that good?" he asks breathlessly. "You close?"

Simon can't get any words out but he nods frantically, head tipped back against the pillow, neck stretched, chin in the air. He's _so_ close, pleasure twisting frantically somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, Noel's cock occasionally brushing his prostate and making his body tremble and his brain go fuzzy. Russell's hand isn't quite tight enough but he doesn't want to take over, likes the fact that the two of them are trying so hard to make him come. He feels himself reaching out to hold onto both of them, clutching randomly, feels himself straining towards orgasm, desperate—and then Noel rolls his hips slightly and everything is a haze. He hears himself let out a sort of sob and doesn't even care, bearing down on Noel's cock as Russell milks the orgasm from him, the two of them working him through it as he shudders and writhes. His mind is blissfully blank and nothing matters except this wonderful feeling, like every last bit of tension flooding out of his body, like an enormous weight being lifted.

He's vaguely aware of the feel of his come splashing up onto his t-shirt, and then all too quickly it's over.

He comes down haltingly, caught between enjoying the feeling of Noel still inside of him and hating it. The taste of Russell's come is still lingering in his mouth and it's disgusting and yet, somehow, still arousing. He feels like he momentarily left his own body, and now, back in it again, everything feels even more intense in ways he can't tell if he actually likes or not. He covers his face with his hands, waiting for Noel to finish, feeling his body being rocked by his thrusts. Thankfully Noel doesn't take long, but he does lean forward over Simon to get the best angle, his lips brushing the backs of Simon's hands, his breath heavy and hot and close, again simultaneously managing to make Simon feel both ill and sort of tingly. It's confusing. Noel sounds good when he comes, probably looks good too. Simon wonders if he'll regret not watching, but right now that seems like the least of his worries when it comes to regrets.

Noel is gentle when he slips out, careful. He even pets Simon's hair a little before dealing with the condom, which makes Simon flinch, affronted yet grateful. He doesn't want to look at either of them so he keeps his hands over his face for as long as he feels he possibly can.

Then Russell's flinging himself down onto the bed beside him with enough force to shake the mattress, yawning noisily and snuggling up to Simon's side, which is completely unacceptable. His skin feels hot and sweaty and Simon jerks away, sitting upright.

Noel is padding across the floor on his way back from the en-suite, and simply gives Simon a cheeky smile as if this whole thing was just a bit of harmless fun, or some other mind-bogglingly inaccurate misconception. Noel flops down onto the bed on Simon's other side.

"Well," says Simon, after a long moment of wondering what the fuck to do. "That was a horrifying mistake that I will regret for the rest of my days."

It's maybe a touch too harsh, but he can't help it. He wants to say even worse but he bites his tongue, fighting the vicious urge to lash out at them as if it's _their_ fault he's so desperate and awful and eager to ruin his own life. Russell and Noel just nod sleepily, clearly not really listening. 

"If you think this is going to turn into a sleepover, you're sorely mistaken," Simon adds, standing up in case staying on the bed is giving the wrong impression. Noel just snuggles closer to Russell and they actually do look like they're about to fall asleep. Simon stands there awkwardly, arms crossed, feeling so horribly naked, despite the fact that he's still wearing his t-shirt. He feels sticky. He wants to go straight home, but he also wants a shower immediately.

Somehow, Russell seems to read his mind. "You can shower if it'll help, darling," he murmurs, waving a lazy hand in the direction of the bathroom.

"Yes," says Simon. "Well. I'd certainly like to wash your filth off me."

"Go ahead."

Russell watches through half-lidded eyes as Simon heads into the bathroom, noting the pointed way he shuts the door as if there's any need for privacy after what's just happened. For a long moment there's just silence, and then the sound of the water running, which he and Noel both listen to for a little while without speaking.

Then Russell can't help himself. "Well," he says, rolling over onto his back, wriggling to get comfortable. "How about that."

Noel cackles sleepily. "I know."

A pause.

Somehow Russell can't actually find any more words to say, which is confusing, because he feels a desperate need to say _something_ to express how he feels about the night's events. "I _mean_..." he continues, trailing off. He hopes Noel will continue the thought, but Noel is clearly too sleepy for conversation, as he often is after sex.

"Yeah," is all Noel adds. He seems happy. Sleepy and content. Russell wonders why he doesn't feel the same.

He really feels like he needs to talk this through, which is not at all how he usually feels after sex—just do it, enjoy it, go to sleep and forget about it is his usual routine. He doesn't even know what he actually wants to _say_ , it just feels wrong to treat this like any other one-night-stand. A weird, vindictive little part of him wants to gossip with Noel about Simon's technique, talk dirty about him while he can't hear them over the noise of the shower. He wants to ask Noel how Simon tasted and what his arse felt like around Noel's cock, but not because he actually wants to _know_ , more because Simon would be humiliated by the conversation and he's sure he's has been expecting it since the second he shut the bathroom door.

But Russell says nothing, staring at the ceiling instead, feeling unsettled.

Before long, Simon reappears, a towel wrapped around his waist. He's got his t-shirt back on again even though it's got come stains on it, and his hair is damp and sticking out in various directions. He coughs, avoiding looking at them as he sets about trying to get dressed, attempting modesty by turning his back. Russell watches him dispassionately, looking at his skinny legs and bony arse as he pulls his boxers back on. Everything feels a bit surreal and slightly disturbing. Simon slips into his jeans, making it clear he's not planning to join Russell and Noel in bed.

"So," he says when he's done, hovering awkwardly by the bed, "right, well. What are we supposed to do now? How do we say goodbye after something like that? Do I shake your hand, or—"

"For God's sake, Simon," moans Noel. "Just c'mere."

Simon does not move, so Noel heaves himself upright and leans over Russell, grabbing Simon by the front of his shirt and yanking him in for a kiss. Simon seems too startled to do anything but kiss back.

"My turn," says Russell, though he actually doesn't particularly _want_ to right now; it just feels like the kind of thing he'd say, the kind of thing he'd do, another little way to wind Simon up and make him uncomfortable.

"Ugh," Simon responds, giving Russell a perfunctory kiss on the lips. "My mouth still tastes like your come. It's revolting. I used your mouthwash but I can still taste it."

Russell wants to say something snarky back, but the reminder that Simon swallowed his come is giving him that uncomfortable feeling again, something creepy under his skin like he's itchy. So he says nothing.

"Are you sure you wanna go home at this hour?" asks Noel, eyeing the clock. "It's 3 in the morning and you're clearly all fucked out, you look exhausted. Just sleep here. It's fine." He nudges Russell. "Right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Russell says hurriedly, ignoring the weird fact that he actually does kind of want Simon to leave. "'Course. Plenty of space. More the merrier."

"Ugh," says Simon again. 

He really is exhausted. He absolutely does not want to stay and drag this experience out any longer, but the thought of having to get all the way home on his own at this time of night is almost equally depressing. And would take a lot more effort. He weighs up his options and then sighs deeply. The bed, if he ignores its occupants, does look sort of inviting. It's big enough that he might not have to touch anybody.

"Go on," Noel encourages, snuggling closer to Russell to give Simon even more space on his other side.

" _Ugh_ ," Simon stresses, but undoes his jeans again nonetheless, kicking them aside and climbing under the covers with his t-shirt still on, turning his back to Russell and Noel.

He's vaguely aware of movements behind him, the lights being switched off. He keeps replaying things in his head. Noises he made, clumsy movements. Things he allowed that he absolutely should not have allowed, what the fuck was he _thinking?_ He feels far too tense to sleep, sore and achy and overall far too aware of his own body, but apparently getting fucked actually _has_ managed to relax him somewhat, despite the circumstances, because before long he finds himself starting to doze off. His mind is buzzing away horribly but his tired body wins out in the end.

At least for a little while.

He wakes up only a few hours later, alarmed when he realises he's not in his own bed, even more alarmed when he squints into the darkness and recognises the room as Russell's, and then vaguely sickened when the previous night comes flooding back to him all at once. For a moment he wishes he did drink after all; maybe if he'd been drunk he wouldn't remember everything in such stark, crystal-clear, humiliating detail. He's fucking _sore_ and he'd forgotten that feeling, that tenderness inside that won't let him forget he had a cock up his arse.

He tries to remember things therapists have told him, that sex isn't shameful, that the body has needs, et cetera et cetera, but nothing seems to quell the deep, heavy feeling of discomfort in the pit of his belly. He rolls over and sees the other two bodies sprawled out beside him, and almost immediately he's up and out of bed, fumbling for his jeans. He can't believe he's about to go home in a t-shirt with dried semen on it, but there's no way he's going to borrow one from Russell and have it be a nagging reminder.

He wants this whole 'leaving' thing to be quick and easy, but of course nothing in his life can ever be, so he has absolutely no idea where his socks have got to and it's too dark for him to find them simply by looking. He finds himself crouching down and shuffling along the carpet, reaching out with both hands, but all he finds is other items of clothing that don't belong to him, and when he inadvertently grabs Russell's boxers he decides to give up and just abandon the socks entirely. 

When he gets back to his feet he's startled to see Noel sitting up in bed. His face is hard to make out in the dim room but Simon can see that he looks concerned, and it's an expression Simon _really_ does not want to deal with right now.

"You all right?" Noel murmurs, voice sleep-rough as he runs a hand back through mussed hair.

Simon feels like he should probably lie, because that'd be the polite thing to do, wouldn't it? Even if it's obvious. Make something up again about an early morning appointment, thank Noel for a wonderful night, assure him all is well and tell him to pass the message on to Russell. And then avoid them both for as long as possible until the next professional engagement.

Instead, he just says "No," a little too loudly. Noel frowns at him and Russell is starting to shift about like he might wake up and Simon feels agitated and twitchy and ill. "No," he repeats, quieter. 

Noel's brow is all furrowed and he looks so disgustingly _sweet_ , like he'd actually listen if Simon wanted to talk, like he—like he wants to make it better. It makes Simon want to say something horrible, something that would make Noel feel as vulnerable as he's feeling right now. It's terrible, because just for a second, just for a split second it also makes Simon want to be honest. As if there's a world where he could get back into bed and tell Noel how last night made him feel, how even though he enjoyed it—god, he enjoyed it—it made him hate himself and he doesn't know _why_ and, in spite of it all, he knows that with a little persuasion, he would let it happen again. 

Maybe there _is_ a world where Noel wouldn't judge him for such an outburst, would hold him instead, and pet his hair, and Simon wouldn't attack him for it. He'd just let Noel comfort him and tell him all the things that Simon already knows, about how there's no reason to be ashamed of the things his body wants, and maybe this time the words would stick. Maybe there's even a world where Russell would wake up too and Simon still wouldn't flee. He'd let them both calm him down and eventually he wouldn't feel sick anymore, even if they nestled him between their bodies, even if they kissed him again, even if he found himself wanting more. 

But, Simon realises, standing in the dingy bedroom, this is the same world as always, and he's going to remain self-loathing and nauseated and bitter, because that's all he can do.

"Simon?" Noel murmurs gently, and his voice is so sweet and genuine it actually _hurts_ , makes something ache in Simon's chest.

"I have to go," he says simply. He doesn't offer an explanation, just an awkward sort of wave, brushing off any attempts at further discussion. "See you around," he adds half-heartedly as he slips out the bedroom door.

It's just gone 6am as he creeps through Russell's apartment and finds his shoes and jacket.


End file.
